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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248852">I'd Be Lying If I Kept Hiding (The Fact That I Can't Deal)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsFlameSniper/pseuds/MarsFlameSniper'>MarsFlameSniper</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But like...Summertime Depression, Canonical Character Death, Closeted Character, Depression, F/F, Feelings Realization, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unrequited Love, flashbacks to pre-series as of chapter 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:53:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsFlameSniper/pseuds/MarsFlameSniper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the summer of 1984, Barb is gone and Nancy is coping. </p>
<p>She swears she's coping.</p>
<p>(Set between seasons 1 and 2, with some chapters set before the series)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbara "Barb" Holland/Nancy Wheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's hot outside. That goes without saying really, it's the height of summer. Every window in the house thrown open in the hopes of inviting in a non-existent breeze as the mercury of the thermometer in the kitchen creeps slowly upwards. It's something that Nancy both loves and hates about Indiana.</p>
<p>Summers past would have found her rummaging through the icebox in search of something to cool herself down, stripped to the bare minimum of clothing she could wear without attracting that disapproving stare from her mother. Other years would have seen her outside. Pool parties were something of a norm, even in a little town like Hawkins, and once summer vacation hit, no one cared how popular you were. If you could swim, you were in.</p>
<p>But she doesn't really care for pool parties any more.</p>
<p>Shaking her head to clear out the memories before they form, Nancy wipes the sweat from her brow and looks at the piles of clothing scattered around her room. Today, she's on a mission.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Her mother had offhandedly mentioned at breakfast that morning that a few folks around the neighbourhood were planning on a garage sale to raise money for the summer festival, and wouldn't it be good if they could spare a few items each?</p>
<p>In fact, what had actually been said, with a subtle glance at her and a pointed eyebrow raised at Mike, who had balked at the sudden attention, was that they were both getting a little old for some of their possessions, and it was far past time they were gotten rid of.</p>
<p>Mike had, of course, argued vehemently that no, he didn't want to get rid of anything. Much less be forced into doing so. His stuff held sentimental value. Nancy had let the argument wash over her, mind mentally cataloguing what was in her room.</p>
<p>She'd grown out of dolls and other toys and had no qualms about giving over the remaining few she still had in a box inside her closet, but the thought of that had also made her consider what else was in her closet. Blouses, dresses, a few t-shirts, other things besides. She'd pushed away from the table, leaving Mike to fight a losing battle and headed back upstairs, opening her closet doors and considering the clothes she could see.</p>
<p>Most of them would still fit, and none were so far removed from current trends that she'd look any less fashionable for still wearing them, but something inside her, a small bleak part of her brain that'd felt less and less small as the days of summer had crawled on, had told her that she wasn't this person anymore. Try as she might to wish for ice pops from her freezer, shorts so short they'd made her brother's nose scrunch in disgust at seeing so much of his big sister's body, and days where the sun glistens off the water in such a way that had made her days seem endless, Nancy knew she couldn't get those summers back again.</p>
<p>Despite the heat, a chill had crept across her body as she'd sorted. Most of what she pulled free of the hangers going straight into a pile marked for donations. A few, more recent purchases, were kept, but the majority were cast aside. She'd hardly spared a second look for any of it, yet despite this, she hadn't allowed her mind to wander from the task, to stray in the monotony of it.</p>
<p>Idle thoughts had lead her nowhere good, lately, and she'd rather stay busy.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>“You're donating a lot of stuff.”</p>
<p>Nancy looks at her brother as he peeks around her doorway, tipping her head to acknowledge the point but otherwise remaining quiet. He must see this as some gesture of permission- or perhaps it's just that she hasn't told him to buzz off- but he crosses the threshold into her room, and perches on the end of her bed, regarding the piles of clothing.</p>
<p>“Aren't you like, sad? To get rid of any of this?”</p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>He looks askance at her, but says nothing.</p>
<p>It had been a surprising but welcome change in their relationship that they'd no longer snipe and squabble at each other at any given opportunity. Each took the time to listen, measure what was being said by the other. She appreciates it, not really sure she has the energy to play the role of the stuck up big sister to Mike's bratty younger brother any more.</p>
<p>He holds up a lilac sweater from one of the piles, looking at it for a moment before putting it back down and picking through her other choices on what to donate. She closes her eyes, leaning against the empty closet, focusing on the heat prickling along her skin, the sound of the neighbourhood kids playing outside, the faint hum of the TV from downstairs, anything, anything at all she can pick out to occupy her mind because she needs something to latch on to, to stop her brain from catching up for just one second, just one godawful second is all it takes to think of pool parties and ash grey landscapes and things that slither in the dark and blood and B-</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>Jolting awake, her eyes fix on Mike, who is holding up a t-shirt, his mouth turned down as he looks between it and her.</p>
<p>“Didn't you get this when you went to the Boardwalk the summer before last?”</p>
<p>Though everything in Nancy is telling her not to do it, she takes the shirt from Mike and holds it up in front of herself. There's a garish design on the front, and if Nancy closes her eyes, she's sure the brightness of it would be imprinted on her eyelids. Mike was right, she had got it the summer before last. Worn it near enough every day since then, until she'd outgrown it.</p>
<p>Barb had picked it out.</p>
<p>Had used her last fifteen dollars on her family trip to get it for her because she'd seen Nancy looking at it every time they'd passed this one souvenir store. She'd surprised her with it when her parents had dropped Nancy back home, her own parents unwilling to go to an amusement park for the day but more than happy for the Hollands to take their oldest off their hands.</p>
<p>Squealing, she'd hugged her best friend tight, trapping the shirt between them, showering her with thanks while Barb had blushed and smiled in that easy way of hers, looking down at her over the top of her glasses, pleased that she was pleased.</p>
<p>A gentle touch on her arm brings her back to the present, and she shakes away the memories, feeling groggy. Mike has his hand on her wrist, looking at her with something like sympathy, and everything in Nancy feels tight, as though her body is being stretched like a rubber band, and she might snap at any moment. Shrugging him off, she tosses the shirt back onto the pile he'd picked it up from, the one marked 'donate', and moves to sort through another, hands once again picking methodically through each item.</p>
<p>It's a few minutes before she hears Mike leave the room, and she can't escape the anger she feels mounting inside her once he does, clothes tossed aside with ever-growing force as she thinks over and over the look in his eyes. Sorrow, pity, but worst of all, understanding.</p>
<p>How could he understand anything? His best friend had come home.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>It's after sunset when four trash bags of clothing are presented to her mom, who looks at them with a pleased smile. Nancy carefully thinks about anything but that moment as she hands them over. The noise from whatever show her dad is watching in the front room a good distraction, and she lets the sound carry her through the necessary motions.</p>
<p>As it turned out, she'd been busy enough with her sorting that she'd missed dinner, but a plate had been saved for her. She sits by herself at the table, still focused on the sound of anything but her own thoughts. Methodically picking through the plate of meatloaf, until she stares too closely, and the way the juices run from the meat remind her all at once of things she'd rather not be thinking about and her fork clatters to the tabletop, dinner pushed away.</p>
<p>Her head aches, and she's not about to explain to her mother why she's only eaten four bites of food that day (dinner wasn't all she'd missed), so she scrapes the leftovers into the trash and hopes no one will notice them, before retreating to the safety of her room.</p>
<p>It's cooled down outside enough that her room is a little chilly, but she makes no move to close the window, looking instead at the numbers on her clock radio: nine forty-two.</p>
<p>The evening stretches out before her and she finds her fingernails digging into her palms, breathing deeply through her nose and willing the numbers to change faster.</p>
<p>Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven.</p>
<p>She lasts twenty minutes like this. Every ounce of energy devoted to one thought. Change. But as the clock finally hits ten, she begins to tremble, sitting down heavily at the vanity and willing the numbness to leave her limbs. Dread begins to creep through her, and it takes all she has not to follow up on the taste of meat creeping back up her throat and vomit all over her bedroom floor.</p>
<p>The clock tells her it's seven minutes later that she finally lifts her head, and she spends the next three staring at the empty skeleton of her closet, doors still flung wide, and before she can think too much about the nothingness that now lies within it, she rises to her feet and shuts them, switching on her bedside lamp.</p>
<p>Almost in antithesis to the last half an hour, she lets herself become a blur of activity. Putting the few clothes she'd decided to keep away, straightening out her possessions and doing whatever she can to keep herself moving. This carries her through until the sounds of her family downstairs gradually quieten, and she hears her parents head to their bedroom, the house dark and still save for the small place of sanctuary she has created for herself.</p>
<p>A book she'd been assigned as summer reading finds its way into her hands, and she keeps her peace like this, losing herself in the troubles of someone else's life.</p>
<p>It seems odd, in a way, that she should be expected to connect with the troubles that the protagonist is experiencing. All she can do is think that it could be worse, somehow it could always be worse. She doesn't much like the book, the protagonist with which she is supposed to empathise seeming shallow, bratty. His biggest concern is that he's just kind of a loser. As far as she can tell, the rest of the narrative is headed for more of the same.</p>
<p>Night well and truly fallen, the sounds of crickets echo from outside but otherwise, all is still, and she pulls her eyes away from the pages to stare through her window, carefully looking for signs of movement. Her peripherals pick up the swaying of the trees surrounding the neighbourhood, and she makes sure to keep her gaze away from them. It's too easy for her mind to get lost in the unrelenting darkness of the forests bordering Hawkins, to catch glimpses of things she can't convince herself aren't real.</p>
<p>She had never asked that girl, Eleven, back then in the school's gymnasium, exactly what she had meant when she'd told them that Barb was...”gone”.</p>
<p>Nancy wasn't stupid. She knew it had meant her best friend was-</p>
<p>But she didn't know how.</p>
<p>She'd let her mind be consumed with the pain of knowing that she'd never see Barb again, never see those beautiful brown eyes light up in happiness at the sight of her best friend, never link their arms together so carefree as they walked from school together, never share another secret with her, hear that melodious voice and feel so complete for it. Instead, all that was left was a gaping maw in her chest that she'd filled with fury, vengeance, blunt force trauma and bullets because once everything had come together she'd needed everything and everyone to hurt just as much as she did because damnit Barb hadn't gotten a search party or a miraculous happy ending where some kid straight out of a sci-fi film brought her back from some crazy alternate dimension.</p>
<p>She was just gone.</p>
<p>And though she hadn't expressed it, Nancy had wanted to shout and scream and stamp her feet like a child at the unfairness of it. Barb was her best friend, and hadn't she deserved as much? Barb, who rarely had an unkind word for anyone, who'd brightened Nancy's days just by being there...who'd let herself be dragged to a stupid party she hadn't even wanted to go to by her best friend and had gotten killed for it.</p>
<p>Had that creature, the Demogorgon, dragged her into the forest that night? Let her suffer? Let her feel fear?</p>
<p>Barb's face swims in her vision, eyes wide with fear, her skin marred by sweat and blood.</p>
<p>Perhaps she'd escaped in a lucky moment, wriggled free of its grip somehow, but by then she would have been dragged deep into the forest. She'd whimper from a wound at her leg, the Demogorgon hungry for more of the flesh it had sampled, following the spattering of blood that leads a trail straight to its prey.</p>
<p>In her mind, Barb's fearful cries sound just like the doe that she and Jonathan had discovered, the night they'd gone hunting for the thing that had taken so much from both of them, and her imagination warps the pitiful creature into her best friend. Perhaps taking refuge behind a tree. Perhaps the very same one that Nancy herself had crawled into, the fetid stench of the Upside-Down masked by the coppery scent of her blood.</p>
<p>She would have found hope, seeing such a place to hide. Would have pressed on, unknowing of the danger, ignorant that she was being herded like cattle to slaughter, and in her moment of safety, in the second she would have exhaled in relief...it would have her. Rend her. Unmake her completely because she'd seen it, see the way the world was perverted within the Upside-Down, and she didn't doubt it would have corrupted Barb too, denying her peace and instead revelling in the agony of her attempts at living, the descent into entropy a mockery of a quick death and Nancy curls in on herself at the thought, knowing and yet unknowing. Her best friend's eyes are hollow, skin mottled, destroyed, body rotted out and re-inhabited and it's all she can do not to scream into empty air, her own lungs betraying her for wet gasping coughs as tears she hadn't realised she'd started to cry stream from her eyes.</p>
<p>She's gone.</p>
<p>Gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>Chewing his cereal, Mike watches his sister from across the breakfast table. Carefully, the way someone might watch a wounded animal, which is a little weird when applied to Nancy because although he hadn't actually seen it, he knew she'd gone full-blown monster hunter on the Demogorgon while he'd been protecting El. And fighting that thing with just two other people for backup with a few improvised traps was admittedly pretty cool.</p>
<p>But lately, she just looks so sad.</p>
<p>He wants to do something childish, maybe steal something from her plate or mess with her stuff, anything to wipe that glassy look from her eyes but the only thing worse than her sadness is the strange blankness that would settle over her features sometimes, like when he'd brought up the shirt Barb had bought her. Something about that expression makes him uncomfortable, as though he's seeing something he's not supposed to be seeing, something very personal.</p>
<p>Though he loves being a kid, Mike wishes he were older sometimes, because then maybe he'd know some way to make his older sister smile again.</p>
<p>He slumps back into his chair as she rises, her food hardly touched, and he glances over at his parents. His father is invisible behind the newspaper, while his mother is wholly absorbed in his younger sister, and Mike can't help but stare down at his plate as she walks past him to leave, wanting desperately to say something to her if he could only find the words.</p>
<p>He'd heard it again last night. The only thing letting him know that his sister is capable of more emotion than the sadness that settles over her like a veil. Desperate sobbing, choking over her best friend's name over and over, and Mike gets it. He does. Because hadn't he felt something similar when Will had gone missing?</p>
<p>Or maybe it was a little different. Because Nancy seemed so lonely without her. As though it wasn't just a friend she was missing, but a little piece of herself as well.</p>
<p>He continues to think as he finishes his breakfast, dropping his bowl into the sink and plodding back to his bedroom, slow heavy steps to match his thoughts. What he really needs is some help. Because though he's noticed how different his big sister is acting, he doesn’t feel like he understands enough to help her.</p>
<p>His first thought is to ask Steve Harrington for advice because though he hardly knows him, he’s Nancy's boyfriend and that has to count for something. But the more he thinks about it, the less convincing it seems that Steve would be able to do anything. Steve was older than him, sure, but he was still in highschool. Mike needed someone...more adult than that.</p>
<p>His next thought is the police chief, Hopper, but he dismisses that one soon after. The last thing that would seem helpful would be the police asking Nancy questions.</p>
<p>Huffing, Mike throws himself back onto his bed and glares at the ceiling, wishing that either of his parents had been the ones to take note of how his big sister seemed to be fading away, day by day.</p>
<p>Sometimes, he wishes he had a mom a little more like Will's.</p>
<p>Mrs. Byers was probably one of the coolest grown-ups he knew. Even if the other adults in Hawkins gave her funny looks, or talked about her behind her back- first for being a single mom, then for having one of her kids seemingly die then come back to life- she didn’t seem to let it bother her at all. She'd figured out that Will was trapped someplace else all on her own, and she’d gone into the Upside-Down with Hopper to find and bring him back. If that wasn’t cool, he didn’t know what was.</p>
<p>She’d dealt with someone she loved a lot vanishing suddenly and not knowing what had happened, not knowing if she’d ever get to see them again. Mike knew that she would get it if he asked for advice on how to help Nancy, it was almost exactly the same-</p>
<p>Hold on.</p>
<p>Leaping up, he ran from his room, tearing through the house and only stopping to put his sneakers on by the front door.</p>
<p>“Mom, I’m going to Will's!” he calls, not bothering to wait for a response as the door slams shut behind him and he grabs his bike from the driveway.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>Midday sun bearing down on her, Nancy wipes a hand roughly across her forehead, brushing away the few stay curls of hair that have escaped her ponytail, and the sweat that had begun to bead across her skin since she'd last swiped at it a few minutes earlier.</p>
<p>What she wouldn't give for a driver's license right now.</p>
<p>The walk to Steve's house was, relatively speaking, not that far. A good few blocks, maybe twenty minutes maximum. But the sticky heat that has overtaken the town makes those minutes feel like hours. Her blouse clings uncomfortably to her back, collar feeling too tight even with the top button undone. Her shoes are rubbing painfully against her ankles with each step, and she staggers slightly at the sharp bites of pain walking brings.</p>
<p>Through the haze of the day, she begins to make out Steve's house in the distance, and though she'd made the conscious decision to go over, each second she draws nearer, a feeling of discomfort begins to spread through her chest. Honestly, she's still not altogether sure why she's decided to make this her destination for the day. Seeking comfort, perhaps. Or whatever she can find of it with Steve, because it's hard to say sometimes whether she's searching for a sensation she just can't find in the embrace of her boyfriend. Pulling her bag closer across her body, her fingers fidget with the strap as she finds every excuse not to look at the building she's heading towards. Her eyes flicker left to right, towards the kids biking down the streets, to the cars driving into the centre of town, and she almost turns towards them. But her feet, itching and sweating and prickling with exhaustion, push her onwards until Steve's house no longer just registers in her vision but dominates it. She's at the front door, gaping up at the walls, straining her ears to listen to the distant sound of Hawkins over the gentle lapping of the water from the pool at the back of the house.</p>
<p>Knock. Knock. Knock.</p>
<p>Staring at her raised fist as though it had betrayed her somehow, she zones out just enough under the baking heat that the motion of the door swinging open makes her jump, nearly topple backwards.</p>
<p>“Nancy?”</p>
<p>Steve Harrington stares back at her from beyond the threshold, confusion at her unannounced visit quickly morphing to concern as he takes in her appearance. He ushers her inside, and from the moment she steps out of the heat, Nancy's body begins to shake, the cool indoor air practically a shock to her system. Steve puts an arm around her-</p>
<p>and with the way she feels she's surprised he's not cooked on contact-</p>
<p>guiding her through the house, the path to the sitting room evident after a moment of thought. Along the way, they pass a mirror, and Nancy spares a glance at herself. Her skin is pale, save for the blotches of red adorning her cheeks courtesy of the heat, the faint sheen of sweat only highlighting how awful she feels. Her vision begins to fuzz over, and she clutches at Steve's arm, stumbling slightly.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ Nance,” he mutters, lowering her down onto the sofa, “you should have got one of your parents to give you a ride over here, it's too hot to be walking around right now.”</p>
<p>She says nothing, breathing in deeply through her nose. Footsteps to her left tell her he's headed off towards the kitchen, and she spends the next few moments trying to will her body to stop shaking. Vision returning from the grey static that had slowly obscured the world from view, she twists her neck to the side almost immediately, leg beginning to jiggle up and down as she ignores the french doors leading out to the pool.</p>
<p>“Nancy.”</p>
<p>The sound of a faucet running cuts through the silence and her mind lets her believe that the sudden noise is what causes her spine to straighten, her breath to shorten. It's just that. Nothing else that she can see. Nothing else that she can hear. It's just that.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?”</p>
<p>Fumbling slightly with her blouse, she undoes the second button from the top. Heat is creeping along her skin, swelling at her neck, and she presses the pads of her fingers to her throat, swallowing heavily. The sound of her foot tapping against the floor dims to a buzz in her ears as she feels her pulse racing below her fingers.</p>
<p>“This isn't you.”</p>
<p>No. No that's wrong. Everything is fine. She's fine. She'll just get a ride home or something. It's fine. She's fine. Fine. Barb can just go ahead and go home. She's fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.</p>
<p>A movement in her peripheral sends her reeling back, arms swiping out before she even has time to register what's in front of her. A voice cries out “fuck!” and there's a sudden crash as a glass of water Steve had held out to her goes toppling to the floor. It shatters on contact, and Nancy feels ice water spray over her legs, the sudden sensation bringing her fully out of her stupor, and she scrambles to her feet, meeting his shocked expression with a guilty one of her own.</p>
<p>“Steve I-I'm sorry I-”</p>
<p>He'd stumbled back from her sudden lashing out, and was staring at her now, mouth gaping as he looked between her and the shattered glass.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, you just...startled me.” It sounds lame to her ears, and she bows her head. Just so lost in her thoughts that for a second, the movement had seemed to belong to something much more deadly than her boyfriend.</p>
<p>Her mind snaps back to that night in the Byers house, back to back with Jonathan, gun barrel flicking from left to right, above or below, as the tangled strings of Christmas lights had flashed wildly around them. Her eyes had jumped to each of them as they’d blinked rapidly, knowing that as the was the one with the gun, she had the best chance of injuring the Demogorgon first and stopping them from all being killed. Red. Blue. Yellow. Green. One by one they’d splutter out before lighting up again as though nothing was amiss and each one would draw Nancy’s aim until she realised she was being distracted and her gun would find the next sudden movement to focus on.</p>
<p>A gentle touch on her shoulder brings her back from the memory, and she looks up to see Steve, his expression one of understanding.</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s okay. I get it, really.”</p>
<p>He pulls her in for a hug and she lets herself go to him, careful to ignore the way his arms feel too tight around her frame, his chest too hard, the way the jut of his chin jabs into the top of her head. She wants to feel safe, relaxed, loved in his arms, but all she can focus on- all she ever seems to focus on when she’s with Steve lately- is how wrong he feels. Before her mind can wander down that alleyway of thought, she wriggles from his arms, a flimsy smile she hopes he doesn’t think too much about adorning her face.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about the glass, I can clear it up later.” He reassures her. “Do you want me to get you another water?”</p>
<p>Her throat feels dry, scratchy, and despite being out of the sun, Nancy still feels as though her skin is burning from the heat.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>They sit back down, Steve immediately drawing her close. She’s sure it’s supposed to be soothing, but for some reason, she feels anything but relaxed. Her muscles feel locked into place, and she has to actively think about unclenching her jaw.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you’re here.” He whispers to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.</p>
<p>Silence is his answer, and perhaps the guilt of that should trouble her, but it feels like nothing, a drop in the ocean compared to everything else she should feel guilty for, so it hardly seems to matter. Once again, she can’t help but fixate on how badly Steve seems to fit against her. He’s all lines and angles, elbows and legs and shoulders seeming to rebel against her comfort at every attempt of intimacy.</p>
<p>It felt nothing like she’d thought it would, all that time ago when she’d first taken notice of him. She’d expected they’d slot together like jigsaw pieces, but it was as though they’d been rammed together, none of the edges lining up in the way they should. His hand begins to brush at her hair, smoothing away the locks that weren’t plastered to her head with sweat and twisting the ends of her ponytail through his fingers. Each touch feels heavy, and she has to repress a shudder as her instincts tell her that the hand will soon turn into a fist, dragging her head up into a gaping, hundred-toothed maw that she can't escape from because her hair is caught in a spindle fingered grip.</p>
<p>A particularly clumsy touch means that Steve's fingers meet the back of her neck instead of the hair at her nape, and it's as though a firework goes off inside her chest. Bolting upright, she lurches from the sofa and is halfway towards the front door before Steve catches up with her, grabbing her forearm and whirling her back around to face him.</p>
<p>“What the hell Nance? Where are you going?”</p>
<p>Wrenching from his grip, ignoring the hurt in his eyes and the way his hand falls limply to his side, she stammers out a series of apologies and retreats, running back out into the sunlight. Behind her, Steve is surely at the door, watching her departure, and for a second she's afraid he might chase after her, and that sets her heart pounding as she begins to mentally catalogue where in the surroundings she can hide from pursuit, before shaking the thoughts from her head.</p>
<p>The sun continues to glare harshly in her eyes as she beats a path towards Hawkins's main street, gaze never wavering even as a fresh wave of sweat drips from her forehead into her eyes. There was a salon on the main road leading into the centre of town, and it was time she got a haircut.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <em>1981</em>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">“Heads up!”</p>
<p class="western">It was hardly a warning. Nancy turned at the sudden shout from her brother to be met with a face full of beach ball, the colourful sphere smacking straight into her nose.</p>
<p class="western">“Mike you asshole!” Nancy yelled, blinded by the sudden pain.</p>
<p class="western">“Langauge!” Her mother scolded her from somewhere behind her, and though she was growing more irate by the minute, Nancy resisted the urge to snap back at her mother that she wouldn't have had to use profanities if only her dweeb of a little brother hadn't launched a ball at her face.</p>
<p class="western">As it was, she ignored her, stalking back across the sands of West Beach to where her best friend was currently sat, huddled under a wide umbrella, engrossed in a book.</p>
<p class="western">She flopped down on the assortment of towels Barb had laid out in the shade, glad for the relief it brought her eyes. Not that she was complaining about sunshine and fair skies in the height of summer on the beach, but it was nice to cool off every so often.</p>
<p class="western">“Hey,” she said, smiling up at Barb, who had yet to acknowledge her presence. “You wanna come for a swim? The water's really refreshing, and it'd be a shame to come all the way out to the Dunes without checking out the Lake. It's not exactly the North Pacific, but it's just as good as any other ocean.”</p>
<p class="western">If Barb heard her, she didn't respond, and Nancy furrowed her brow in amusement. She tilted her head sideways to see what the title of Barb's newest novel was. <em>The Colour Purple.</em> If it was as engaging as it seemed to be, to make Barb completely disregard an entire beachfront's worth of sun, sand, and sea, then Nancy would have to see about borrowing it once she was done. The sound of the waves in the distance was a soothing backdrop to the shade, and Nancy could feel a sense of calm taking hold of her.</p>
<p class="western">When her parents had told her about their planned family vacation to the north of the state, Nancy had begged them to consider going to the State Park's beaches, and thankfully they'd relented. Sensing perhaps that she'd be somewhat bored with only her younger brother and sister for any real company, they'd let her ask the Hollands if Barb could come too.</p>
<p class="western">Even aside from having someone her own age to talk to, Nancy was just glad to have Barb close. Spending two weeks away from her best friend had been an awful thought to bear until her parents had said she could come with. She stared up at her from where she lay, eyes tracing across her legs, picking out the moles and beauty marks the other girl usually kept covered up. Nancy was surprised Barb had chosen to go with a one-piece bathing suit, her friend's clothing tastes usually much more conservative.</p>
<p class="western">(They never had been, until middle school, when words like <em>'Fatso' </em>and <em>'Lardass' </em>had unwillingly forced themselves into Barb's vocabulary and she'd taken to wearing jeans and long sleeves as much as possible).</p>
<p class="western">Usually, she only felt comfortable showing her body in front of Nancy, something that had always made Nancy feel happy in a warm and secret little way. There's a little cluster of moles on her left thigh that she always finds herself seeking out, whenever she gets the chance to see them, and more than once she's thought about tracing them with the pad of her index finger, like Braille. A secret message only she knew.</p>
<p class="western">Her eyes climb higher still, a little disappointed that Barb has practically curled herself up into a ball where she sits, because the bathing suit has a slight scoop at the neck, and Nancy knows for a fact that many of Barb's freckles begin at her chest. Just like her legs, Barb's freckles are another thing she finds herself mesmerized by. Her own skin is clear, dull in comparison, but the tiny marks on her friend's face and chest make her think of stars in the night sky.</p>
<p class="western">“Does that mean you think my head is full of empty space?” Barb had asked wryly one evening when Nancy had absently told her as such. “No,” she'd responded, “Just that I think you're prettier than all the galaxies out there.”</p>
<p class="western">She hadn't understood why Barb had averted her eyes once the words had left her mouth, nor why she'd blushed so hard.</p>
<p class="western">There's a faint glow to Barb's skin, and Nancy can't help but wonder if even the brief time in the sun would cause more to bloom across her body. She likes the idea of Barb's little map of stars growing, and now she's determined to get her to come and play in the sea with her for a few hours.</p>
<p class="western">Kneeling up, she leans into Barb's personal space, reading over her shoulder, eyes skimming over the words in front of her but not really taking them in.</p>
<p class="western">“You okay Nance?”</p>
<p class="western">Barb tilts her head into where Nancy's hovers just above her shoulder, and unconsciously she leans into the action.</p>
<p class="western">“Mike's playing with his beach toys, and mom and dad are sunbathing. I'm lonely.” She sticks her lips out in an exaggerated pout, knowing that despite Barb's eyes locked firmly on to the pages before her, she can still tell what Nancy is doing. A slight quirk of her lips is her reward.</p>
<p class="western">“Don't you want to sunbathe as well? I know you were hoping on working on a little tan while you're here.”</p>
<p class="western">“No. I want to go swimming. With you. The water's so clear out there. I bet we could go looking for seashells if we wanted.”</p>
<p class="western">“Hmmm...” Her eyes are still roving over the words in her book, and Nancy nudges her head slightly, wishing she'd turn those brown eyes her way instead.</p>
<p class="western">“Pleeease Barb.” She nudges her again, grins when Barb slots a bookmark in-between her pages, and tips her head back a little to meet Nancy's gaze.</p>
<p class="western">“Alright, but you have to come exploring with me later. There are lots of walking trails around here, you know? I want to check out the views.”</p>
<p class="western">Honestly, Nancy would have said yes even if she didn't want to go swimming first. Anything that Barb would have asked of her, she would have agreed to, just to see the little smile that lit up her whole face in happiness as Nancy nodded her agreement. There wasn't a lot she wouldn't do to make that smile appear.</p>
<p class="western">The two steps out from the shade, heading down to the water, and Nancy hangs back for just a second, watching the way the light seems to set Barb's hair ablaze. She's always been a little jealous of her brassy locks, her own brown hair seeming dull and diminutive in comparison, and though she can't help but envy the way it shines now, Nancy is mostly just mesmerized. Staring openly as Barb dips a foot into the lake, she can't help but wonder why it is that Barb doesn't have the boys at school falling all over her. If Nancy were a boy, she certainly wouldn't have waited to ask her out.</p>
<p class="western">She's waving at her now, having ventured out a little further, and Nancy shakes her head free of the thought and smiles, running down to join her. Really, the boys didn't know what they were missing out on.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">Their plan to go exploring gets derailed, however. Caught up in the excitement of the beach, Nancy had forgotten one important detail. One that reared its head once the afternoon had worn on and the family had gone back to the hotel to change.</p>
<p class="western">“Oh my god.”</p>
<p class="western">Barb is staring down at her from beside her bed. Nancy can't see her expression, given that she's lying on her stomach, head buried in a pillow, but judging from her tone, it's bad.</p>
<p class="western">Not that she needs Barb or anyone to tell her how bad it is. Her back and her shoulders feel as though someone has scrubbed her down with sandpaper. Heat pulses across her raw skin, and she whimpers miserably into the pillow.</p>
<p class="western">She'd noticed a strange warmth on her back after she and Barb had finished their swim in the lake, but hadn't thought much more of it. The sun was still high overhead, any warmth could easily be attributed to that. As she'd dried off, she'd let it slip from her mind, only taking heed of the growing discomfort once in a while, before becoming promptly distracted. It was only as they'd trekked back to their rooms, and Mike had pointed out that her back looked like a lobster's did she begin to take notice of just how sore she was. Even in the shade, it persisted, and when her mother had taken a look at her, she'd gasped loud enough that the rest of the family had taken notice.</p>
<p class="western">All because she'd forgotten to put sunblock on her back.</p>
<p class="western">In the hour since they'd made it back and Nancy had retreated off to her room shared with Barb, the pain had only worsened. It's now impossible to ignore, and she's shaking where she lies. The room's little air conditioner rattles pitifully above them, turned on in an attempt to provide some relief for her sunburned skin.</p>
<p class="western">“I'm really sorry,” Nancy sobs, “I promise we'll go along the trails in a few days like you wanted. I just can't move right now, it hurts so much.”</p>
<p class="western">She feels the bed dip beside her, a hand settling on her leg. “Don't be silly Nancy,” Barb says, “we'll go when you're feeling better. I don't mind waiting a little while longer.”</p>
<p class="western">The words bring tears to Nancy's eyes, and she turns her head slightly to look at Barb, smile wobbly.</p>
<p class="western">“Let me see if I have any kind of burn ointment with me, I feel like I remember packing something...” Barb's voice trails off, and though the hand leaves her leg, she doesn't leave Nancy's side. A scraping sound from below indicating that she'd dragged out her suitcase from under the bed. As she roots around through her possessions, Nancy re-buries her face, trying not to focus on the way every twitch sends her back into agony. It's strange, how desperately wanting to keep still would prompt her body into sudden jolts of movement. A few moments later, Barb lets out a hum of satisfaction, and she pushes her case away again.</p>
<p class="western">“Okay so,” she says, “it's not burn cream, but it's an aftersun lotion for sunburns, so I guess it'd have a similar kind of effect? It's supposed to soothe the damaged skin.”</p>
<p class="western">Anything that would help sounded wonderful, and she tells Barb as such, digging her fingers into the pillow as another twitch renews her pain. It's replaced with a new sensation not long after, as a healthy amount of lotion is squeezed onto her back. She flinches from the sudden cold against her skin, but all of a sudden Barb's hands are rubbing it into her back in wide circles. Everywhere she passes with her palms tingles with relief, and her friend spares no effort in making sure it's rubbed in all the way, stopping only to apply a fresh squeeze to her skin.</p>
<p class="western">“That feels so good,” she mumbles, her body finally beginning to relax under Barb's ministrations. It's not enough to block out the pain completely, but it dulls it enough that she no longer feels as if she's on fire. An involuntary whine escapes her throat as Barb finishes and rises to wash her hands, and her friend chuckles at the noise.</p>
<p class="western">“I was planning on heading down to get some dinner,” she says once the faucet is turned off. “I can bring you something back if you want to stay here and rest for now?”</p>
<p class="western">Nancy nods tiredly, almost completely spent. Barb leaves a few minutes later, and she dozes off into a fitful sleep. Dulled though it is, the pain from her burns keeps her from resting for long, her eyes fluttering open more often than they're shut. Barb hadn't closed the curtains before leaving, so the room is washed in an orange glow, shadows cast long across the room, and Nancy feels vaguely ill as they progress further along, like claws reaching for her in the stillness of the room.</p>
<p class="western">With a final shuddering gasp, the air conditioner shuts down completely, and she is left alone in silence. Her ears begin to buzz, and she desperately wishes she could get up to open the window, but her limbs feel heavy, as though they were being slowly dragged through quicksand, and she's left to feel the heat envelop her. Sweat beads along the back of her neck, travelling down her shoulders, igniting prickles of pain.</p>
<p class="western">“Barb...” she whispers, wishing her friend would return. Time escapes her with each return to slumber and she has no idea how long she's been alone for. The next time she slips off, she dreams of Barb's hands on her skin, rubbing in more of her lotion and whispering sweet, soothing words to her. Her head swims, so grateful for the cooling touch that she arches her back upwards, feeling the press of Barb's fingertips into her skin, pushing her back down again.</p>
<p class="western">“Nancy?”</p>
<p class="western">Groaning as Barb presses down hard on her shoulder, grinding with the heel of her palm, she feels a fluttering sensation erupt along her belly.</p>
<p class="western">“Nancy.”</p>
<p class="western">The presses turn into an insistent shaking, and she grumbles in disappointment, confused as her eyes open to the sight of Barb standing above her. Worry lines her brow, and in her half-asleep state, Nancy is overcome with a desire to run her fingers along the lines there, to wipe away that concern and smooth out her skin.</p>
<p class="western">“Oh good, you're awake. You had me a little bit worried. You were tossing about in your sleep.” she says.</p>
<p class="western">Tongue feeling heavy, Nancy manages to ask how long she'd been asleep for. The darkness that coats the room an indication that it had been longer than she suspected.</p>
<p class="western">Crossing the room to draw the curtains and flick on a lamp, Barb considers the question. “A few hours I think? I haven't been back for very long either.”</p>
<p class="western">“Could you put a little bit more of the stuff on my back?” She's acutely aware of the pain beginning to crackle back to life along her skin as she climbs further back into consciousness, but she's rewarded with a wince from her friend.</p>
<p class="western">“Sorry, I didn't have a lot to begin with, and I used the last of it on you earlier.”</p>
<p class="western">Nancy tries to ignore the thread of disappointment that these words cause within her, and she sniffs, turning her head back towards the window, hoping the lull of the night will prompt her back into sleep.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">It's a pretty awful interruption to her vacation, and she ends up bed-bound for two more days until her skin heals enough that she can sit up without wincing in discomfort. It's another two before she's able to go back out into the sun, and even then, she has to keep her shoulders covered, meaning she spends most of this time exhausted from the heat.</p>
<p class="western">Her first week of vacation has slipped away already and she'd hardly noticed.</p>
<p class="western">Once she's up and about again, she's determined to take Barb along one of the beach trails, to thank her in some small way for taking care of her while she'd been unable to move. Whatever Nancy had needed, Barb had been there, and though she was only able to take away the pain for short amounts of time, she had nevertheless been a constant by her side.</p>
<p class="western">And Nancy determinedly does not think about her dream. Or the feelings that it had stirred in her. She'd been delirious and in need of comfort and that was the end of that.</p>
<p class="western">Her chance finally comes the evening before they were due to depart back to Hawkins. Her parents had said that, as long as she stuck with Barb, the two of them were okay to take a walk down to the beach and explore the trails. They needed to be back before it got too dark, but if she was honest, Nancy was already intending on breaking that rule.</p>
<p class="western">So as her mother and father watched over Mike and Holly, the two girls pulled on their shoes and set off for the beach, veering away just before they hit the sands, and taking a worn little footpath that would lead them around the edges of the shore.</p>
<p class="western">The wild grass tickles her knees as they head further out, and she's distantly worried about whatever bugs that may live out here biting her legs, but mostly, Nancy is just happy at the smile that hasn't left Barb's face since they'd started walking. Stopping every so often to inspect the plant-life around her, or to take in the view, Barb seems totally relaxed, and though perhaps she should also be enjoying these things, Nancy can't help but watch her instead.</p>
<p class="western">“Isn't it all so lovely?”</p>
<p class="western">She tears her eyes away from her companion and faces the lake. There's a breeze blowing in, the water choppier than it had been when they'd first arrived two weeks ago, but even still there are small gatherings of people dotted along the sands. Kids playing by the water while their parents watch over them. Gulls fly overhead, quickly becoming dots on the horizon, their cries mingling with the sounds around them to create something like an aura of calm.</p>
<p class="western">Closing her eyes, she breathes in deeply, Barb steps up next to her and their hands instinctively seek out each other.</p>
<p class="western">“Yeah, it is.”</p>
<p class="western">Their fingers laced together, they continue down the trail. Nancy feels almost like she's floating in a dream as the sun steadily gives way to dusk. Slowly, the numbers on the beach below dwindle down, until there are few enough people that Nancy can pretend that the whole world is just the two of them.</p>
<p class="western">Eventually, they come to a wooden walkway that snakes further back, past several copses of trees. Their shoes hitting the boards is the only sound between them, the rhythmic thumping almost like a shared heartbeat.</p>
<p class="western">It's as they come to the first treeline that Barb stops, a thoughtful look on her face.</p>
<p class="western">“Do you want to check out the trees? From up close, I mean.” She rests a hand on the handrail, and for a wild second, Nancy imagines her vaulting right over it.</p>
<p class="western">“Won't it be dangerous? What if there's like...snakes?”</p>
<p class="western">At that, a frown lines her lips, and she steps back.</p>
<p class="western">“I guess you're right.”</p>
<p class="western">But before she can continue down the trail, Nancy tightens her grip, stopping her in place.</p>
<p class="western">“Maybe if we're really careful?”</p>
<p class="western">And maybe there will be snakes, or other things skittering around in the dark, and maybe it's the stupidest thing Nancy's ever agreed to, but it's also worth it for the way Barb practically lights up as she agrees, eagerly breaking away from her to awkwardly shimmy over the handrail. Following her with a giggle, Nancy vaults the rail, feet sinking into the sand, and in the time it takes her to wriggle them free again, Barb has already wandered out between the tree trunks.</p>
<p class="western">She's reaching out to touch them as she walks past, and Nancy hangs back again, happy just to watch. The trees are spread thin enough that she can see where they end, the dunes beyond giving way to the darkening sky and silhouetting Barb in a warm glow. Even if looking at nature, plants, animals and the like isn't really her thing, Nancy thinks she could see herself doing this kind of thing more often if it made Barb this happy every time.</p>
<p class="western">Shaking her head to loosen away her daydreams, she finally sets off through the winding tree trunks, intent on catching up before she loses sight of her friend in the rapidly darkening light.</p>
<p class="western">Though the rough ground makes it a little tricky, she's eventually able to make her way over to where Barb is hunkered down, examining a cluster of long-stemmed wildflowers. They're a soft purple in colour, easily visible even in the low light.</p>
<p class="western">“Aren't they pretty?” Barb says as she draws closer, her voice soft, as if afraid to break some spell.</p>
<p class="western">“What are they?” Nancy asks, but Barb just shakes her head.</p>
<p class="western">“I think they're wild lupines, I didn't think they could grow in deep sand like this though, so I could be wrong.”</p>
<p class="western">She fiddles with one of the sprigs, before breaking it free and standing. Before Nancy can react, Barb has tucked the flower into Nancy's hair with a gentle “there” of satisfaction.</p>
<p class="western">Reaching out to touch the flower, careful not to knock it loose, Nancy wishes she had a mirror to see, but from the way Barb is smiling down at her, she's not sure she really needs one. That same hot flutter of emotions she remembers from her dream returns, and she finds herself looking shyly up into her eyes. Again, the sounds of the water, distant yes but still there on the edges of her hearing, suffuse the air around them, but far from the calm it had brought before, Nancy finds her heart beating wildly. The longer she stares, the more she finds herself entranced by Barb's eyes. Her glasses have slid down her nose ever so slightly, and she's torn between wanting to correct them, or wanting to pull them off entirely, to see Barb's face just as it is. Her hand twitches with the notion of either.</p>
<p class="western">“Nancy...” Barb whispers, and just the sound makes her shudder, stepping closer unconsciously.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes?” And she feels hopeful. For what, she isn't sure. All Nancy knows is that she's never felt like this before. As though she's a match caught in the brief instant before a flame sparks to life and consumes her wholly.</p>
<p class="western">But what finally comes from Barb's mouth is “W-we should get back.”</p>
<p class="western">And just like that, everything seems to fall away. She's frowning, averting her gaze, and Nancy mirrors her without meaning to. Clearing her throat and turning back towards the trail.</p>
<p class="western">“Yeah, you're right,” she says, voice high with false enthusiasm. “It's gotten pretty dark, my mom and dad will be wondering where we are.”</p>
<p class="western">They set off without another word, and save for the leg up she gives Barb to get her back on to the walkway, and the pull up she receives in turn, they say nothing to each other, Barb walking three paces behind her the entire time. Nancy finds herself grasping at the empty air, missing the warmth of her best friend's hand. The flower brushes against her forehead, and she both loves and hates it all at once, cursing it for whatever it has caused back amongst the trees. She doesn't want there to be silence between them, as if they've had an argument, but every time she draws breath, intending to call back behind her, nothing emerges, her ability to form words, sentences, questions, all gone. With each step they take back in silence, the ache and confusion in her heart doubles, and more than once she has to blink back a sudden wave of tears.</p>
<p class="western">Her parents are already asleep by the time they get back, and though she knows she'll likely catch hell for returning so late once morning comes, right now, she's just grateful they aren't around to interrogate her on why the two of them have returned in such low spirits.</p>
<p class="western">The silence between them remains unbroken even as they head back to their room and begin to change for bed, everything in Nancy's head is screaming at her to say something. If not to address whatever had happened outside, then at least to assuage her worries about the current state of their friendship. It's reminding her of the few times they'd fallen out as children over some silly thing or another and given each other the silent treatment for a few days before one of them would inevitably break down in tears, triggering the same in the other girl and leading to a good half an hour of alternating between crying and apologizing, neither remembering what they'd gotten so angry at the other for in the first place.</p>
<p class="western">Except this time, Nancy doesn't know what it is that she's done to upset Barb so much. And surely that's worse somehow?</p>
<p class="western">“Barb-” she begins, hoping there'll be something she can say to dispel this strange tension that's come over them, but before she can continue, Barb is already throwing herself under the covers of her bed and has flicked the lamp off.</p>
<p class="western">Nancy is left standing in the dark, half undressed, staring at the spot where her friend has vanished into the night. Changing slowly in the silence, she climbs into her own bed, still facing the other side of the room. As much as she wants it to, sleep does not come. The buzzing of her thoughts and the thumping of her heart too deafening for her to find peace. She knows from the sound of her light snores that Barb is asleep, and though she closes her eyes, she cannot will her body into doing the same.</p>
<p class="western">It's only when, finally, the sky outside begins to brighten, enough that it lets her see the vaguest outline of Barb's shoulders from where she lies that Nancy finally gives in to exhaustion and sleep claims her.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="western">Their morning passes in such a sleep-addled blur that Nancy is hardly able to take notice of the fact that Barb still hasn't said two words to her. They pack their bags and make their way down to breakfast, where her father addresses them sternly about the importance of listening to their instructions on being back before dark. Her mother is once again busy with Mike and Holly, but she finds the time to meet Nancy's eyes every so often, lips turned down in disappointment. They both say the customary apologies and hurriedly eat.</p>
<p class="western">Check-out is at ten o'clock sharp, and even if Nancy had been able to wrap her exhausted brain around the concept of simply asking Barb why this weird silence had persisted between them, Karen's frequent hurrying them along until they're bundled up amidst their suitcases and other possessions in the back seat of the family's sedan prevents such a thing from happening.</p>
<p class="western">Even though she's sure enough that the rumbling of the car's engine and the fact that her mother is currently occupied with a squirming Mike in her lap would mask any attempt at hushed conversation, the act of travelling only intensifies the sleepiness Nancy feels. Her baby sister has already dozed off in the carseat to her left, and from her spot in the middle, she can't help but unconsciously lean towards Barb as her body fights to reclaim the sleep it had missed out on the night prior.</p>
<p class="western">Barb herself is turned away to observe the passing scenery from the window. No indication is given that she finds the weight of Nancy's body pressing into her side unwelcome, which only confuses her further. She thinks she might have mumbled something to that effect, but it's hard to tell, her eyes are so heavy and her head is swimming, but something warm finds its way into one of her hands and squeezes and for just a second, everything feels alright again.</p>
<p class="western">The last thing she hears, over the shuddering of their bags and the drone of the car, is three words.</p>
<p class="western">“I'm sorry Nancy.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies for any glaring errors in my descriptions of West Beach/The Dunes and National park trails, being across the pond, google was my best friend for a lot of this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Almost a week later, her mother's eyes had flashed dangerously as she'd taken in her new shoulder-length locks and Nancy fought hard not to break out in a shit-eating grin as she sat down at the table for lunch, watching her try to contain the multitude of things she no doubt wanted to say. She'd snuck off not long after waking up, giving a non-committal answer when asked where she'd been going so early in the day, and had made the trek back into town to the salon she'd made a note of, requesting something short and easily manageable from the stylist with the nearest free chair.</p>
<p>Still hidden behind his newspaper, her father had offered no comment as of yet on her shorter style. Mike was already off playing with his friends at Dustin's house, so it was just the three of them, no one to shield her from her mother's ire. There was a certain satisfaction to be gained from the way her pursed lips grew narrower and narrower. But the feeling also evoked the memory of Jonathan Byers, stalking through the woods and unleashing his feelings on middle-class suburban girls rebelling against their families, and the satisfaction soured somewhat.</p>
<p>“Ted.” Her mother finally snaps, bringing Nancy back out of her head, and the mixture of disappointment and anger that thinking of Jonathan brings.</p>
<p>Dropping his newspaper with a sigh, her father picks up his knife and fork and makes a start on his food, raising his eyebrow at Karen. But it was clear from the look on her face that she wasn't about to berate him for his lack of table manners, and he swallows the bite he'd taken with a gulp.</p>
<p>“Aren't you going to say anything,” she starts, pointing at Nancy, “about what your daughter has decided to have done to her hair?” For the first time since sitting down at the table, her father's eyes flicker over to her, taking in her appearance. On some level, Nancy hopes he'll get angry in the same way her mother is, that he'd talk down to her, or berate her, anything that would give her an excuse to fight back.</p>
<p>All day, a sort of viciousness had been building up inside her, from the moment she'd opened her eyes, gotten dressed, made her way to town, the walk back home. Everything seemed to stab at her until her ire felt almost fit to spill over.</p>
<p>It wasn't the first time she'd had a day like this, not this summer, or even this year. At first, it had seemed Very Important to manage these sudden random fits of anger. First for Steve, who seemed so put out whenever she showed feelings of discontent, and then for everyone at school, because didn't she have an image to maintain? Yes, Tommy H and Carol publicly labelling her a slut hadn't done her any favours, but the consensus around Hawkins High School seemed to be that if she was still dating Steve, the graffiti on the cinema must have been a cruel joke.</p>
<p>But as time had gone by, and winter term had given way to spring, and spring to summer, her image, friends, boyfriend, the typical suburban middle-class teenage dream had seemed to matter less and less. Why should she care that her very visible anger bothered people who were only content to look at her as a prissy little do-gooder? What did maintaining any kind of social image matter, when gaining it had cost her so much? So she'd let herself stew in her feelings on the days where she woke up and wanted everything around her to break. She'd snap at people, be short with Steve, flip off Carol if she saw her in the hallways gossiping with her friends, anything at all to let the world know that things weren't okay. And nor should they be.</p>
<p>Her father is speaking, and Nancy forces herself to tune back into the conversation.</p>
<p>“-think it looks nice Karen. A little on the short side perhaps-”</p>
<p>But from the way the colour erupts over her mother's cheeks, this is evidently the wrong thing to say.</p>
<p>“A little short? A little? Ted, she practically has no hair left!”</p>
<p>Rolling her eyes, Nancy interrupts “Mom, it's a bob, not a buzzcut, I still have plenty of hair left. I just felt like I needed a change.”</p>
<p>Ted went to pick his newspaper back up “there, you see? It's a bob, and I think it's fine.” but a look from Karen makes him pause.</p>
<p>“Oh, it looks fine does it? Do you think it's fine that she's going to be parading around Hawkins with hair like that? With hair that makes her look like a dyke?” Karen whispers the last word, glancing over at her like she thinks just hearing the word spoken aloud will leave her stricken with some terrible affliction.</p>
<p>Nancy's blood runs cold as her parents continue to argue over her. Staring down at her untouched food, her mother's words echoing in her head, dyke, dyke, dyke. Left hand splayed out across the wood of the table, her fingers curl in, one by one, nails scraping across the wood. Jaw tense, she wants to scream back at her mother that so what? What does it matter who or what she looks like? The anger claws at her, through her chest like a rabid animal and before she knows it, she's moving. Her parents continue to argue as she rises, and she fights the urge to fling her plate from the table.</p>
<p>Instead, she runs upstairs, the bang of her bedroom door slamming behind her doing little to quash the rage she feels. Her vision narrows in on the chest of drawers, and in two strides she crosses the room, sweeping every collected trinket off its surface and onto the floor. A few of the more fragile pieces break, and more are broken under her foot as she stamps down viciously. It still isn't enough.</p>
<p>Picking up her music box, she hurls it against the opposite wall, but the thrill of satisfaction that the sound of the splintering wood makes is overshadowed by the raw need to feel even more.</p>
<p>So she grabs whatever falls within reach, tearing through her bedroom as though she's possessed. Nothing is spared from her rampage, everything she can identify as being a gift from her mother is thrown with extra force and, with everything that breaks apart, she hears her words still echoing in her head. So she throws harder. Harder.</p>
<p>The storm of her anger takes a while to calm, and when it does, Nancy finds herself sat amidst the wreckage of all seventeen years of her life. Lungs burning, she breathes heavily, surveying the damage.</p>
<p>The comedown from her days filled with wrath is always the worst. It's as though her emotions are a kettle that's been allowed to boil over for too long, and everything has evaporated away. She should feel something, she thinks, sad or disappointed even, as she looks over the mess she's made. But there is nothing.</p>
<p>There isn't even a desire to rise and start the arduous process of tidying up. The house is quiet again, and she doesn't know if her parents' argument had fizzled out on its own, or as a result of the crashing and banging that had no doubt filtered back down to them.</p>
<p>From where she's sat, Nancy lowers herself down until she's lying on her floor, head cushioned by her arms. She feels tired, so very tired.</p>
<p>The heat of the day has reached its peak in the midday sun, and her room is stuffy, despite the window thrown wide to beckon a breeze. It feels as though she is breathing through a thick layer of cotton over her face, and the usual deep breaths she takes to calm herself feel so heavy in her lungs. She thinks back to something Hopper had said, about the Upside-Down. He and Mrs. Byers had gone in to look for Will but had worn hazmat suits to move around in. Apparently, the air was toxic. She'd spent at least fifteen minutes in the place, the night she and Jonathan had gone out, no suit or breathing apparatus. Had it poisoned her? Would it rot her body from the inside out, perhaps? She imagines herself with a smoker's cough at the age of nineteen despite never having touched a pack a day in her life, and the thought makes her giggle.</p>
<p>Or, attempt to. The laugh comes out as more of a wheeze, the dryness of her throat transforming the sound and maybe, Nancy thinks to herself, this is it. Maybe this was the price she'd pay for letting Barb get taken, condemned to a slow death from otherworldly cigarette smoke after finally taking some responsibility for the situation. As she so often does, she thinks back to that night with Steve, Jonathan, and the Demogorgon. How close she'd come to being killed. Wouldn't it just be shit, if after surviving that hellish night, she died thanks to poisoned air?</p>
<p>The thought elicits a sigh and nothing more. Perhaps she should be more concerned at the prospect of dying like that, but much like her rage had fled her, so too had everything else, and she continues to do the one thing she feels like doing right now. Lying exactly where she'd fallen on her bedroom floor in the stifling heat.</p>
<p>It's not quite calm, but it's the next best thing. Eyes lose focus as she remains numb, transfixed on the mess she'd made. Something glitters on the floor, catches the light in such a way that for a moment, it becomes beautiful again.</p>
<p>It isn't until the dead weight of her limbs begin to prickle from the threat of pins and needles that she rises, pushing her body back up. She moves a little too fast and her vision swims, reminding her that she'd barely eaten. It seems to take an age to stand back up, and she sways into her doorframe once she manages it, thumping heavily against the wood and grasping at the handle. Thankfully, the tight numbness of her legs soon fades, and she's able to slip back downstairs and into the kitchen.</p>
<p>There are some cold cuts of meat in the fridge, and a few vegetables left inside the crisper, so she begins to throw together a salad, relishing the cool air that glides over her skin as she does, almost as if she can feel the last dregs of her anger being blown away with the heat. It's as she turns back around, shutting the fridge door behind her, that she spots her mother, still sat at the dining table. Her father is in the lounge, that much she knows by the sound of the television, but she'd assumed her mother was in there with him. But no. Instead, she's sat exactly as she was however long ago it was that Nancy had left, lost to her thoughts.</p>
<p>“Mom?” Against her better judgement perhaps, she ventures over, setting her food down on the table. Karen jumps at the sudden sound but doesn't openly acknowledge her daughter until Nancy is right next to her, hunkering down slightly so they're level, and only then does her head turn to face her oldest.</p>
<p>Nancy can't help but wonder sometimes, looking at her mother, if she's looking at her own future. The thought always makes her shudder. Trapped in Hawkins, living out some dull little piece of Americana with two-point-five kids and a picket fence. Jonathan's words wash over again, and she shakes her head, willing them away.</p>
<p>Even if she did want that kind of life for herself...after last year, she's not sure she can settle down as a typical suburban housewife She doubts most women her mother's age have felt the kind of terror that still haunts her morning and night.</p>
<p>She's snapped out of her thoughts by her mother's hand cupping her cheek, her eyes are misty and she seems almost as far away as Nancy herself just was.</p>
<p>“You seem so different lately,” she says, after a moment of simply staring at her daughter, and for some reason, the statement makes Nancy's chest lurch.</p>
<p>“It's like you grew up without telling me.”</p>
<p>Saying nothing, she lets her continue.</p>
<p>“It feels like it was only yesterday you were still my little girl, begging me to take you to the park, telling me all about your day at school, forcing me to read you just one more chapter of The Neverending Story before bed. And then one day I blinked and here you were.”</p>
<p>She remembers those days, fondly and yet with a tinge of bitterness. They're so rose-tinted in her memory: a precocious girl whose biggest concern was which dolls she should bring to play with at recess, messing up on a spelling test and only getting a seven, whispering with her new best friend Barbara Holland about which boys they'd like to kiss and maybe even marry someday.</p>
<p>It's strange to think about now, she can't imagine ever being that innocent again.</p>
<p>“I'm still here mom,” Nancy says, voice shaky, “I didn't go anywhere.”</p>
<p>“You hardly talk to me any more Nancy, instead you sneak around at night or go missing for hours at a time, and now? Well...”</p>
<p>So perhaps her melancholy had been more obvious to her mother than she'd realised. But it hardly feels like it matters. She remembers practically begging her mother to take her seriously when Barb had first vanished, and though she knows it's a silly thing to hold a grudge over, really, she can't help but feel the resentment swell in her throat as she thinks of it. That maybe if her mother had just listened...understood...</p>
<p>Or maybe if she had just questioned why her eldest had drawn in upon herself back in November. And perhaps there would have been no way for Nancy to verbalize 'I crawled through a hole in the forest while searching for the creature that abducted my best friend and fell into another world and nearly died' without sounding insane.</p>
<p>But she might have wanted to try.</p>
<p>“I know what happened with Barbara was hard, but you've let it take over your life.”</p>
<p>She can't hear any more of this.</p>
<p>Salad forgotten, she rises to her feet and backs away, her mother's hand falling limply to her side.</p>
<p>“Maybe I have,” she spits, “but at least I'm remembering her because it doesn't seem like anyone else in this town is. There hasn't even been a funeral mom!”</p>
<p>Karen's mouth gapes, and Nancy is taken with the sudden urge to slap her.</p>
<p>“Barb was out there mom, scared and alone, and even though no one in this town will say it, something horrible happened to her. It's like everyone just moved on with their lives instead. And I don't understand why.”</p>
<p>She knows she's crying, feels tears streaking down her cheeks, and honestly, it's as if she's cried enough for a lifetime this summer.</p>
<p>Karen makes a move as though to stand, to comfort her, and Nancy can't decide whether she'd welcome such a move or not. So before her mother can follow through, Nancy scrubs at her cheeks with the back of her hand, sparing her mother a final glare before retreating. She dashes for the front hall and slides her feet into her sneakers, and is out of the house with little more than a final glance over her shoulder.</p>
<p>Her mother makes no attempt to follow.</p>
<hr/>
<p>What little calm she'd managed to find for herself burns away under the heat, and she's clenching her teeth tightly as she walks. At first, no clear destination is on her mind, just a need to be away, but the thoughts that whirl in her brain keep coming back to Barb, trapped in the Upside-Down, and then to herself. Before Jonathan's voice had broken through the ashen grey night, and she'd been faced with a world she knew nothing about. Scared for her life. A destination appears in her mind, and she lets her feet walk with purpose, finally alighting on the Hollands' doorstep.</p>
<p>It's barely a moment after knocking that Mrs. Holland opens the door, and Nancy doesn't miss the brief flash of hope that quickly turns to sorrow on her face before a watery smile instead comes to settle over it. With a start, she realises that she probably reacted this way to every visitor that came knocking, hoping perhaps that one day she'd open the door to her daughter, instead of just empty condolences.</p>
<p>“Nancy, how nice to see you. Come in.”</p>
<p>Stepping inside, she follows Mrs. Holland to the sitting room. Everything in the house is so still, and it's more than a little disquieting. She'd been a frequent visitor over the months since last winter, and very little had changed. It's a stark contrast from all the time she'd visited as a child, when hers and Barb's mother had set up playdates, or when she'd finally been old enough to walk over on her own.</p>
<p>There had always been something to bring an atmosphere of liveliness to Barb's home. Different in a way to Nancy's own. With Mike and Holly, it could sometimes feel chaotic, especially with the contrast in attention all three of them received from their mother as opposed to their father. But things at the Hollands always seemed very open and inviting. They were practically like a second family.</p>
<p>“Robert is out at work,” Mrs. Holland- Marsha, Nancy has to remind herself- says, “so it's just me.”</p>
<p>“How are you?” Nancy asks quietly. She feels stupid every time she asks the question, but Marsha never seems to mind, her smile looking a little less painted on at the expression of concern.</p>
<p>“I'm alright dear,” a lie, but one for both of their sakes she supposes. Neither of them has really been alright for a while.</p>
<p>“Would you like a drink?” She says once Nancy has taken a seat, “I made a batch of lemonade earlier, it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”</p>
<p>Her expression is hopeful, and though she's not really that thirsty, Nancy says yes anyway. Robert Holland works down at Sattler's Quarry- this she knows from a few casual mentions from Barb over the years- and kept long hours. Longer, since the disappearance of his only daughter. Nancy could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd seen him at home since November.</p>
<p>Casting her eyes over the familiar space, Nancy notes that a few more photographs have made their way onto the mantle. All of them are of Barb, of course, they'd been steadily multiplying throughout the house over the months. Rising, she crosses the room to observe the newest additions. The first is one from when she was still a little girl, eight or nine maybe, and Nancy traces her finger down the vivid red locks that had then tumbled down Barb's shoulders and reached almost to her waist.</p>
<p>She'd been so proud of her long hair when she was younger, and Nancy remembers countless sleepovers where they'd taken turns styling each others. Nancy had never been able to bring herself to do much more than brush out the knots and tangles in her friend's hair that had accumulated through the day. She'd tried once or twice to tease it into one of the big, glossy styles she'd seen in her mother's magazines, but her childish attempts had never amounted to much. Barb would never complain as Nancy went from experimenting with rollers and mousses to simply running her fingers across the soft waves over and over again, entranced.</p>
<p>It had been a shock, the first week of Freshman year when Barb had come back with freshly-cut hair that sat above her chin. She'd only smiled enigmatically when Nancy had stammered out “why?” upon seeing her new style, and to this day, she never understood why she'd done it. It had made the experience of running her fingers through her hair different from then on, though not unpleasant.</p>
<p>Placing the photograph back down and turning her attention to the second of the recent acquisitions, she realises with a pang of sadness that it had been taken just a week before Barb had vanished. It's a photo from last Halloween. She remembers they'd met up at Barb's before going out. She'd managed to sweet-talk her way out of chaperoning Mike for the evening, and the two of them had planned to go to a party Steve had invited them to.</p>
<p>It's a candid shot, Barb had been fussing over Nancy's hair. She'd managed to travel to an outlet mall to pick up enough accessories for a Madonna inspired outfit, but though she'd been tousling and backcombing her hair for hours, it had been refusing to sit in the singer's wild style. She'd been growing frustrated until Barb had come over, pinning a few strands back and reapplying products until it stayed the way it was supposed to.</p>
<p>The picture had been taken just as she'd finished with her alterations; after she'd taken a step back to look her over one last time. Nancy doesn't need the picture to prompt her memory, one of her many, many bracelets had snagged on her top, and she'd been looking down in irritation as the flash of the camera had alerted her to the picture. But it's the look on Barb's face that makes her pause.</p>
<p>The expression on her face is one she'd seen only a handful of times before, fleetingly. There's a certain warmth to her features, her smile serene as she looks at her, her gaze intent. It's as if she's studying Nancy, trying to drink in every inch of her that she can.</p>
<p>Something clicks in her brain.</p>
<p>“I found that one last week.” A voice to her left, much closer than she'd expected, makes her jump, and Marsha is staring back at her, apologetic, the glass of lemonade she'd promised in her hand.</p>
<p>“I didn't mean to startle you, you just seemed so focused on the pictures.”</p>
<p>Nancy waves away her apology and accepts the proffered drink. Her mouth is suddenly very dry, and she gulps the lemonade down greedily, almost finishing the whole thing. Marsha has picked up the photograph she'd been staring at, wriggling it loose of its frame. She's staring down at it sadly, and Nancy can't help but avert her eyes, looking down at the cubes of ice sitting in her mostly-empty glass.</p>
<p>“She was excited to spend Halloween with you. She always was. Every year. Even when you two were little and you both gave yourself stomach-aches from eating too much candy at once, she always told me it was one of the best nights of the year.”</p>
<p>She's not sure what to say. Should she agree? Tell her that she always enjoyed spending the night with Barb too? Even when she had to drag her from house to house with her little brother instead of spending the night how they wanted?</p>
<p>She nearly does, but Marsha doesn't even seem to be aware of her presence anymore. She's looking at the photo, glassy-eyed, and Nancy doesn't know what she'll do if the woman suddenly bursts into tears, and anyway, isn't this entirely her fault?</p>
<p>Would Marsha Holland be so willing to let her into her home if she knew that she'd forced Barb to go to another of Steve's parties only a week later and that no one would see her again after? That Barb hadn't even really wanted to go until Nancy had needled her into it? That she'd really been intending on ditching her best friend for some guy she wasn't even sure if she-</p>
<p>“You should keep it.”</p>
<p>Nancy's eyes snap from the woman in front of her to the photo that's now being held out to her, unsure if she's misheard. Without thinking, she takes it, but it feels so heavy in her hand that she's worried she might drop it.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Holland- I mean, Marsha, I'm not sure if- I don't know if I should-”</p>
<p>“Please Nancy,” Marsha says, suddenly looking very old, and god if it isn't so unfair that this woman, who'd often treated Nancy like one of her very own children, was being forcibly kept in the dark about the death of her daughter. Feeling as though she was going to be sick, Nancy just nods and pockets the photo. Her head is swimming, limbs heavy, and for a moment she does wonder if she's going to pass out right here in the Hollands' living room. Thankfully, something of how she's feeling must show on her face, because Marsha ushers her to sit back down, taking the glass from her hand and setting it aside. There's a hand on her back, and Nancy tips forward, head meeting her knees as she tries to breathe in deeply.</p>
<p>They stay this way for a while, Nancy's light-headedness evolving into shudders, her head feeling too dense with panic and guilt to lift again. Thankfully, it's a milder panic attack than she's had in a while. It doesn't devolve into her sobbing brokenly, nor does her breathing run wild, and finally she's able to focus on the soothing sounds of Marsha's voice, and the steady circles she'd continued to draw on her back.</p>
<p>“Sorry Mrs. Holland” she finally mumbles when she feels stable enough to uncurl herself and sit up again, but Marsha shakes her head, waving her apology away.</p>
<p>“I understand. You weren't family, but I know you and Barb meant a lot to each other.”</p>
<p>It's almost enough to make her want to curl back up into that ball and stay there. Barb had meant everything and she'd thrown all that away for someone else. She feels filthy, undeserving of the kindness she'd been shown since before she'd come here today. If Marsha knew the truth, she'd surely have some very different words to say. Shame floods through her, and she stands, ignoring the way the world tilts as she does.</p>
<p>“I should go.” She says. God, she feels as though she'd spent the day running from one place to another, seeking sanctuary she wasn't sure existed anymore. Even the places in Hawkins that don't feel tainted by her memories of the horrors she'd experienced feel burdened by her presence in them.</p>
<p>She's about to politely back away and make for the door, but an arm on hers stops her before she can even begin.</p>
<p>“Nancy, dear, are you going to be okay?”</p>
<p>And she knows that she isn't asking that question superficially, in the way a distantly concerned acquaintance might of a person who's been having a difficult time. Even if Nancy never talks about the way it feels like she's been steadily falling apart since she knew Barb was never coming back, it's no doubt that the woman before her can sense how deeply the cracks of her grief run.</p>
<p>She feels as though she's transparent before her, all the sleepless nights and pointless attempts to distract herself laid bare. Every panic attack and rage-filled eruption and every single one of the thousand thoughts a minute running through her head laced with grief and guilt under deepest scrutiny. And yet...looking back into Marsha's eyes, all she sees is understanding, and it's bizarre to Nancy that a woman who has every right to be locked away in her own sorrow, has chosen to put it aside for a moment and ask her if she's okay.</p>
<p>The tenderness of her touch causes Nancy to shake her head before she even realises she's doing it, and the action itself causes a firmness to settle onto the face of the mother before her. Before she knows it, she's being guided upstairs, too dazed to protest, even when she recognises where they're headed.</p>
<p>The door to Barb's bedroom is pushed open and she's led in. Any other day perhaps, just the sight of it would be too much, but right now she feels numb to it. As though the emotions she should be feeling are happening to someone else. She's ushered over to sit on the edge of the bed, Mrs. Holland's last words being to “take all the time you need,” before she shuts the door and Nancy is left alone in Barb's room. As though she's in a dream, her hand delves into her pocket, eyes landing back on the photo that's suddenly more than just a single piece of a fond memory of better times. Now she studies Barb, trying to understand what exactly it is she can see captured in that moment.</p>
<p>As much as she wants to say that it's difficult to put a name to what Nancy can see, her mind merely skirts around the truth. Barb was looking at her with the satisfaction of a job well done. Barb was looking at her with the care of a best friend. Barb was looking at her with amusement from a moment gone awry.</p>
<p>But she's not.</p>
<p>Barb is looking at her in the same way Steve looks at her that she pretends not to notice any more. There's adoration, and longing, and tenderness, and maybe just a little bit of fear too and Nancy can't say that she blames her. No wonder she'd kept this photo in her room, away from prying eyes. It's a difficult thing to explain, no doubt, why she's looking ah her best friend. Her best girl friend, with so much love in her eyes.</p>
<p>She almost wants that anger back from before, that unending rage whipped up into a storm around her, maybe to lay waste to Barb's room this time. Because her mind is screaming at her that this? Is not. Okay. It's not okay that Barb clearly had some kind of crush on her because that kind of thing isn't right, isn't proper. It's sick and wrong and perverted and no wonder she kept it hidden.</p>
<p>Although her mind tries to summon that maelstrom once more, her heart doesn't let it come. And it isn't because Barb was and will always be her best friend, or because she's dead, and can't tearfully beg Nancy to hear her out, let her plead her case. It isn't even because she's suddenly come to terms with the idea of someone being a queer. After all the notion of it makes her whole body feel clammy. It's because...because...</p>
<p>But the reasoning doesn't come. 'Because' has no resolution in her mind, and that makes her shiver.</p>
<p>Because Barb had never really just been her best friend. She'd been everything.</p>
<p>And Nancy doesn't really know what that means for her anymore. Doesn't think she's ready to know. Not right now. Feeling so raw, sat in Barb's old bedroom, a Polaroid of a stolen moment clutched in her shaking hand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shoutouts once again to Emily for giving me a nudge and getting me to post this chapter, because I've been procrastinating on this for too long.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So it feels like it's been a life dream for me to successfully finish a big, multi-chapter work, and after binge-watching Stranger Things late last year this idea popped into my head and I've been determined to get it all down. About 90% of this fic was written listening to 80's remixes of Lana Del Rey (Summertime Sadness, if you must know) which fit the tone oddly well. Mad props to my best friend Emily who has been proofreading pretty much all of this, and has been amazing for bouncing ideas off of (and who linked me to the LDR remix in the first place).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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